“I see the curious rapid change of the light and shade, I see distant lands as real and near to
the inhabitants of them as my land is to me.”
( Salut Au Monde
from Leaves Of Grass by Walt Whitman)
The beginning of this film
is like a birth. Before the first light appears we hear a woman
talking to her son. She tells him the story of Ashwatthama, a tragic
character from the Indian mythology, who was cursed and became an
immortal but lost soul. I am not familiar with the Indian mythology
which varies from region to region in this complex culture of the
Indian sub continent. But I have already a guide which will lead me
through this film which will open my eyes and my ears, the curious
and open hearted boy Ishvaku who is discovering the world around him.
The film is like discovering another world manifested in 2 hours
film.
The film is shot in Black
and White. Only very few hint´s give an idea that the film is less
engrossed from our time than we might think. Only very short colored
moments interrupt the atmosphere of the film. They appear like subtle
distortions in the space time continuum of the film´s universe.
I remember a shot near the
beginning. Ishvaku is feeding the pigeons in the backyard. The
backyards is closed by walls. Behind Ishvaku we see a window which
leads to the world outside the barrier. The boy is totally absorbed
by his action, like I am absorbed by the rich texture of this image.
After a while , Ishvaku goes to the entrance of the house and
disappears inside this entrance which is hardly more visible than a
black spot in this image. For a moment, the camera stays with us and
the pigeons in this backyard.
The vision of this piece
of world does not seem to be forced at all. It is one of many moments
in this film which demand nothing else than attention but it rewards
you with a celebration of cinema as the art of seeing.
There is this strong
feeling for confidence in cinema, confidence in what the filmmaker
has seen, confidence in the apparatus which recorded it – and
finally confidence that these images will unfold their intensity and
often breathless beauty by themselves.
There must be a relation
between the many stories told by the characters to each other and how
the film´s narration creates a whole universe of stories which
define a culture but also a human life. This collecting of vocally
told stories is interwoven the film´s visual and audible narration.
The smallest moments, seemingly non events are beside tragic moments
which appear as not emphasized. The emotions which will be
nevertheless evoked as the film proceeds are the results of
attention, of experience and not formed by forced dramatic
storytelling. But especially in its nearly shy reservation, the
film often appears to me this “sense of wonder” like the time
when I discovered cinema for myself.
In its dynamic between
intensity and a nearly minimalistic reluctance, Ashwatthama
recalls in me the journey I had with the films by Taiwanese Hou hsiao
Hsien, especially with Hsimeng Rensheng (The Puppet master,
1993). In Hou´s work there was a movement from explicit
autobiographical inspired films to a quest for history and culture of
Taiwan but as well a quest for finding his own specific vision of
cinema (evident in his famous extreme long shots). In another kind
but with an equal intensity, Ashwattham has the range between
personal memories, a precise look to the part of the world the
director comes from but as well an own unique vision of cinema.
A brief look back to
February 2014 where Pushendra Singh´s first long feature Lajwanti
had its world premiere at the Forum of the Berlin Film festival. It
happens seldom in my life time that a debut of a new talented
filmmaker caused so much expectations for the near future. Legendary
film debuts from the history of cinema like the ones by Satyajit Ray,
Terrence Malick, Orson Welles or Aparna Sen happened either before my
life time or outside of my awareness. With ,
one of the two finest films I saw at this festival in the last 12
years, I witnessed such a revelation.
After the house is
attacked by bandits, Ishvaku´s mother is killed and he moves with
his father to relatives. This is one of the few but pointed tragic
turning points of this film which create a new situation for the
protagonists. A place in the world is lost, a new one has to be
found. When they arrive at their new home, the protagonists and the
film spend time with mourning. As I said earlier I have not
understood all codes and rituals, this is a moment which affected me
a lot. The impact of the loss of a beloved person is caused by
memories of my own close persons or in so many moments I have seen in
the films by John Ford, Yasujiro Ozu, Hou Hsiao Hsien, Carl Theodor
Dreyer, Terrence Malick or Satyajit Ray.
The interiors are often
sparsely lighted. The interiors are places of shelter and privacy.
The implicitness of light our eyes are used by so much bad television
features where we always see everything is now suspended. As films
often pretend there is a a definite place in the world. True cinema
and especially films like Ashwatthama suggest to find a place
in the world is a permanent search.
In an interview Pushpendra
Singh tells about how he developed the film with inspirations from
own memories. Some characters are based on close relatives. Singh has
really lived in the region where the film takes place. Even without
having read this interview, one can get the an idea about this film
in many moments as felt memories. But Ashwatthama also offers
something like an ethnographic look to its own culture. The
universal and the personal, the prosaic and the poetic are often
evident interwoven in single moments. There is a small moment when a
young woman, the eldest cousin of Ishvaku combs the boy´s hair. Both
are looking into a mirror. They look at themselves. It reminds me in
some moments in Lajwanti when we see Sanghmitra Hitaishi´s
character looking into a mirror. This is a strange revelation to look
at people who are looking at themselves. As we trying to get an image
of this world and its people visible, we have to realize that these
people have already an image of themselves which is not necessarily
identical with our image of them.
The more the film proceeds
the more we are absorbed by this look to a piece of the world. There
are often recurring motives, family meetings or reunions of this
community sitting around a campfire and listening to musicians who
perform their songs.
The specific sense of time
seems to be adapted from the specific sense of time only children
have. The world as an endless huge and rich stage of wonders even
though from time to time interrupted by momentous events. Some times
the plot seems to melt away and than it comes back with silent but
painful fierceness.
Sometimes I feel like
talking again and again about so much single moments to articulate
this specific “sense of wonder” I experienced. The more the film
proceeds, the more I feel - despite its often seemingly non events
or especially because of it – what I will call a poetic breath.
Some times we are absorbed by what the images present and than the
awareness of the artist and this apparatus called cinema reappears
and with it the cognition that cinema is especially because its
ability to create an artificial memory – cinema is desperate and
heartbreaking resistance against death and caducity.
There is one unforgettable
moment which is representative for the film´s spirit and the
delicate style the film is made with. As much as the characters are
absorbed by their world and their actions it does not mean they are
always accepting their fate without reluctance. The scene , I want to
refer is not only a foreshadowing of a tragic event, it is also a
striking moment when these children are confronted with invisible and
nameless borders. During the film Ishvaku has developed a strong bond
with his deaf cousin Laali, a girl who is about the same age like
him. They often stroll together through this stony and sparse
landscape. One day Ishvaku is sent to school. The relatives decide
that Laali shall go too. The school scene seems to be made in one
long shot. The perspective is the one of the children who are sitting
in front of the teacher, the board and the desk. The seemingly
impassive camera evokes a strong sense of power and the little
children bodies are exposed to the moody upright standing strict
teacher. The view is bouncing to the wall with the board and the
teacher and the wall. When the teacher learns of Laali´s deafness,
he chases the two children away. The insulted children leave the
school and the frame. The fact that the echo of their humiliation the
insult of discrimination is left to our imagination. For a moment we
remain in this picture looking at the children exposed to this
teacher and the wall. For a moment the eyes are prisoners in this
room. How the cruelty unfolds in this one moment is intense and
afterwards a heartbreaking nearly traumatic moment.
We have seen Laali and
Ishvaku discovering the endless world, now witness how they
bounce against meaningless
man-made borders.
We gave seen them walking
through ruins which are almost in the process to migrate into the
landscape they are once built on. It is an image presenting fugacity
of human cultures. It evokes a muted melancholy in me. Where it comes
from, I can not tell. More and more cracks appear in this world.
The elder cousin who was
supposed to be forced into an arranged marriage, has escaped. She
resists and disappears. A woman is beaten. The world- or better -
the world defined by men with its rules and its order unfolds
its complex ambivalence.
Ashwatthama, this
kaleidoscope of people , stories and landscapes appears to me as a
miracle which does not really stop when the two hours film have
ended. It continues to have an effect in my memory. Just the kind how
characters are entering a frame and leaving it, stays with me.
Sometimes the combination of image and sound widens the world,
sometimes image and sound reveal its borders. The visible and the
invisible can be experienced similarly. I have no idea which moves me
more, the stylistic and daring consequence of this film or its
incredible delicateness.
And it is one of theses
films I have a hard time to let it go. And yes I have to remember
again Walt Whitman´s imagined journey around the world in his poem
Salut Au Monde.
Ashwatthama
is sone of these cinematic miracles which refer to the great past of
cinema but at the same time to its future. The film is still new
and still on its journey through film festivals. From time to time,
cinema needs a radical redefinition such as Ashwatthama
to move forward.
There are these two
precious gifts, Pushpendra Singh gave to cinema, the one is
Lajwanti, the other is Ashwatthama. Now it is turn of
what we call the public world of cinema to proof if it deserves these
gifts. About one thing I am absolutely sure – I can´t imagine a
near future of cinema without Pushpendra Singh.
Rüdiger Tomczak
